Star
by Glittermonkey
Summary: Everybody loves Trevor! Well, they *should*....


**Star**   
* Pairing: Trevor/Mandy/clothing. In an odd sort of way.   
* Categories: Really, really random silly vignette   
* Rating: PG-13   
* Disclaimer: *points to the Todd-meister* They're his. I'm a hack.   
* Summary: A silly musing on kinds of attention, lack of it,   
and the dynamics in between. A quick peek at our   
favorite sarcastically bitter lead guitarist and   
why he wears sequins so often.   
* Feedback: Gods, yes. Any acknowledgement at all is treasured.   
* Notes: I like Trevor. I have no idea why. He just kind of   
moved into my mind around the time of _Importance of   
Nomenclature_ and has made himself at home ever since.   
He lives in a small economy flat next door to Jerry   
and Shannon on the bottom floor of my imaginary mental   
condominium complex. Malcom and the Creatures have a   
floor to themselves somewhere in the middle, while   
Curt and Brian have commandeered the top four floors   
and the penthouse. Obi-Wan and Xanatos sometimes pop   
in to say hello and play drop-Qui-Gon-from-the-balcony,   
which is great fun for all ages. The larger the Jedi   
Master, the bigger the splat, they always say. I   
believe Arthur is currently living in the janitor's   
closet, though I liked Alex's Nasty!Arthur so much   
that I gave that particular subspecies his very own   
suite somewhere below the Creatures but above Mandy.   
So in conclusion, I like Trevor.   
* More Notes: And for all of you that stopped and wondered,   
yes, Trevor's middle name is Riley. He told me so.   
Anyone who has a problem with that will have to take   
it up with the Initiative. Vapid blonds stick together.   
* Addendum: Ha-HA! I declare this as a legitimate answer to the   
"Everybody Loves Trevor" challenge on PBU. OK, so that   
wasn't what it was written in mind for, but it could   
work. The established pairing being Mandy and her clothes,   
a long and sordid love affair indeed. And Trevor is the   
third party. Works for me! g> 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ 

LONDON -- BIJOU OFFICES -- 1972 

Trevor played guitar. 

Oh, sure, it was always Brian friggin' don't-hate-me-because-   
I'm-beautiful Slade who got the attention, who always got   
interviewed as the serious musician of the group. With all   
his bullshit spouting about an agenda for revolutionary change,   
all the swishing and posing and on-stage antics, it was easy   
to forget that the man hardly ever played more than three   
notes in a row. And who kept the set going, dependable yet   
overlooked as always? The only serious instrumentalist of   
the bunch, him, Trevor R. Finn, that's who. Damn them all. 

Starting from today, Trevor decided, it was all going to change.   
Yes, he was going to put his foot down. Be heard. Be seen. Claim   
his right to the glory and limelights. and Lord have mercy on   
anyone who stood in his way. 

Now, if only he could figure out a way to keep these godforsaken   
feathers from chafing so much against the back of his neck. He   
turned his back to the mirror and glanced over his shoulder to   
see if metallic gray glitter made his ass look fat. He was pleased   
to discover that not only did it not, but it rather accentuated   
his figure nicely. 

"I am," he declared, "fuckin' hot shit." 

Reg glanced over to him from where he was trying on shoes,   
raising an eyebrow in inquiry. 

"Eh, sorry, mate. That wasn't meant to be said outloud."   
Trevor mentally berated himself for the slip and decided he   
would have to practice speaking to himself more quietly in   
the future. 

Satisfied with his reflection, Trevor wandered back to the   
costume chest and began rummaging around for a suitable top   
to go with his ace new trousers. Something that would really   
make him stand out. Something that would make them stop and   
do a double take at his stunning visage. Tossing aside a   
rainbow sweater, a pink wig, and a hideous neon green animal   
print blazer with total noninterest, Trevor stopped briefly   
to hold a pretty purple frock up to his chest. After a bit   
of consideration, he threw it aside. He was too butch for that,   
he supposed. Though it probably would have shown off his legs   
quite nicely. 

He shuffled through a pile more shirts, occasionally trying   
on an interesting paisley print or two. *Nope, nah, never in   
a million years...* Some of the spandex outfits he found   
were so garish that they'd make Superman blush. He dug deeper,   
now fully up to his waist in discarded clothing choices. Then,   
very briefly, he caught a glint near the bottom of the chest. 

*Oooh, prettybrightshiny!* Trevor thought. He pulled the   
garment out with a bit of difficulty, sitting back to examine   
his prize. It was a sequined dress -- silvery, shimmery and   
crying out to be worn. He grinned at the hundreds of little   
Trevors that reflected back at him from every iridescent facet.   
Yes, perfect. He was in love. 

Glancing around to make sure that Reg and Harley weren't looking,   
Trevor wadded the dress up, stuffed it down his shirt, then   
grabbed a random pair of manly-looking black leather pants as   
subterfuge. He mumbled something about needing privacy on his   
way out. The rest of the band, oblivious as ever, didn't even   
register his absence. 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ 

Mandy was pissed off. Which wasn't anything new, really. By now,   
most of Brian's entourage could sense one of her fits coming from   
a mile away and knew to steer clear before she even touched down   
in their vicinity. However, Reg and Harley were feeling courageous   
today. Mostly because she was screaming at Trevor and not at them.   
And they just found that to be endlessly amusing. Especially since   
Trevor wasn't really in a situation to fight back, tangled as he   
was in a rather tight sequined sheath dress. 

"Hold still, you moron!" Mandy snapped. "How the hell you managed   
to fit into that thing to begin with is beyond me. I couldn't have   
lost that much weight in a couple of years. And stop wiggling,   
dammit! It's only causing the zipper to jam..." 

They'd found him in the back room like this about a half hour ago.   
Nobody was sure how long he'd been missing, but the bluish tinge   
to his extremities seemed to signify that he'd been stuck for a   
fairly extended amount of time. Stuck as a seagull in a six-pack   
ring. Positively hog-tied. And acting like there wasn't a single   
thing amiss. He'd tried telling them to go away, that he'd join   
them in a bit, but after the first few seconds of listening to him   
flailing and crashing into breakable items, they decided it might   
be time for emergency assistance. 

"Imbecile! I swear, if you don't stop squirming right this second,   
I'm going to make sure this zipper jams at a particularly unpleasant   
part of your anatomy. Then they'll have to amputate and we'll see   
how much you like that..." 

So they'd called Mandy, figuring she would have more experience with   
tight dresses and things of that nature. Harley had suggested that   
Brian would probably know just as well, but they didn't feel like   
being that cruel to their buddy. Trevor had enough issues to handle   
without having this being held over his head. So Mandy it was. 

They hadn't counted on her lunging at Trevor and strangling him   
like a crazed maniac, though. After all, the dress was doing a   
fine job of slowly asphyxiating him without her help. Approaching   
with the wariness of veteran lion tamers, they pried Mandy off of   
the now whimpering Trevor and held her back until she'd calmed   
down sufficiently. That was when they'd discovered who's dress it   
had been before it had found its way onto their lead guitarist. 

Apparently, Mandy had misplaced her bedazzling garment years ago,   
and had been looking for it ever since, never realizing that it   
had been commandeered by her husband for a late night drag revue   
the week after she'd sent it in for dry cleaning. Being the   
negligent sort he was, it was never returned to its original   
owner, but got tossed around in various trunks and closets until   
it found its way to the offices of Bijou Music. And onto the   
beleaguered looking Trevor. 

"Oh, screw it! Someone get me some scissors. Or a broken bottle.   
Or a medium sized hatchet. Hell, anything with a sharp edge." 

Trevor stiffened, went stock still. He mumbled something about   
being too young to die, and for Mandy to please have mercy. He'd   
try harder not to move, honest. 

"Shut up," she growled, smiling at her reflection in the wickedly   
sharp blades. "I need to... concentrate." 

With no warning, Mandy once again tackled Trevor, jammed her weapon   
down a particularly stubborn seam, and gutted the garment like a   
freshwater trout. 

Trevor screamed like a little girl, covered his eyes and trembled.   
It took him another five seconds to realize that he was now regaining   
circulation in his lower extremities. Clearing his throat and   
straightening his back, he gave his fellow band members a stiff   
nod and walked unsteadily out the door. 

Mandy stared down at the sadly scrapped remains of her favorite   
dress. She was sure it had held some sort of meaning at one time.   
Damn. She lost more clothing than she cared to admit that way.   
What a waste. Then, inspiration struck. Smiling to herself, she   
started cutting away at the rest of the garment, fashioning a   
different neckline, pinning on some sleeves, cutting off pieces   
here and there. Finally satisfied with her creation, she handed   
it to Freddi on her way out, with instructions to finish the seams   
and gift wrap it for tomorrow. 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ 

When the gang arrived for work the next morning, there was a special   
box with Trevor's name on it sitting at the front desk. Trevor opened   
it with an odd sense of trepidation, just knowing something horrible   
was waiting within. He was obviously going to be the butt of people's   
jokes for a long time to come. 

Pulling aside the tissue paper, he was surprised to find... sequins.   
It was the dress. Very funny. But no, it wasn't. It was a shirt made   
from the same material as the dress. A hundred confused looking   
little Trevors stared back at him. He pulled it out and tentatively   
put it up to his chest. Perfect. He tried it on. And much more   
comfortable. He grinned at himself in the mirror again, all worries   
forgotten. For all her scariness, maybe Mandy wasn't that bad. 

Wrapping a hot pink feather boa around his neck, Trevor struck a   
pose. He stared at himself hard, puzzled by the stranger in the   
mirror. Costumes. They were just costumes. Nothing more. 

And next time, he thought, scratching at a stray feather, he'd find   
a much less painful way to draw a crowd. 

-finis- 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~   



End file.
